S' is for 'Sesame street' and 'Sex'
by AliceAo
Summary: Things get heated at a crime scene. All is not what it seems.


'S' is for 'Sesame street' and 'Sex' AliceA Summary:

Things get heated at a crime scene.  
All is not what it seems.

Notes:

Hi everyone  
This is my first fan fic.  
Hopefully the first of many.  
Criticism is much appreciated.  
Drop me a line and let me know what you think.  
:D

Work Text:

"Sher-Sher-Sher-lock", the words oozed from John's lips like honey. His chest ached as he drew in another sharp muffled breath against his flatmates collarbone, slightly protruding from the chasm of his pale torso after years of mind palace all-nighters, 2am violin recitals and three patch problems.

"Sherl-", he tried again, blowing hot burst of air into the taller man's neck, inducing a visible line of goosebumps the length of his neck. Admitting his defeat at verbal communication John traced his wet, swollen lips up the consulting detective's neck, sucking and biting the areas where the goosebumps had been only moments previous.  
He licked and caught the excess skin of the other man's neck making his way up to his jawline. The man hissed above him and a long, illustrious moan escaped his lips.

The wall behind John was cold and rough with floral wallpaper and scratched into his back with every thrust of his flatmate bony hips, but he hardly noticed it over the mouth-water groans that were falling listlessly from Sherlock's lips with every pulse. Their sleek, sweat-soak bodies glided off one another, despite the lack of proper lubrication. The spontaneity and heat of the moment had brought with it its own natural lube which had coiled in the pits of both of their stomachs, as well as the unnatural heat of the unconditioned bathroom stall they found themselves in.

"J-J-John", Sherlock attempted, a small bead of sweat glistened and dripped off his temple and landed on Johns, intermingling, uniting with the canals of sweat flowing form every pore of the smaller man's body. Apparently the heat was getting to Sherlock too, John thought to himself and smirked beyond the limits of his own control. Sherlock slowed the heaves, but didn't stop, to look at John's face, particularly the crooked smile that danced across his lips.

"You're liking this, aren't you, you dirty boy", his voice hummed from the back of his throat. John tensed ever so slightly and his parted lips curled even higher, reminding Sherlock of a very satisfied Cheshire cat.

"Hmmmmmm", the words that escaped from John were incoherent and he knew it. Sherlock would probably reprimand him later for melting into a babbling hot mess just by touching him. Sherlock-1, John- 0. Sherlock reflected the smile and scooted John's slightly less lean body higher up the wall and pinned him firmly against it.

"You like it rough against the wall, you minx." John's lashes fluttered heavy from the condensation they were creating in the tight dingy bathroom of the hotel they had been previously investigating. Wait, did he just say 'minx'? The doctor huffed a laugh out of his constricted chest. Sherlock-1, John-1. His mind was brought back to the moment by the taller man taking a large chunk of John's ass in his hands and kneading them tenderly.

"Oh, God. Christ. Lord!" John finally managed to say tilting his head right back until it was colliding with the sticky-with-body-moisture wallpaper. His toes were barely touching the floor. With each relaxation between thrust, John could put left foot to the floor for a brief second before it was hoisted upward again.

"Just 'Sherlock' will do for now," the tall man whispered into John's ear. John snorted lighted in response and could hear the devilish grin in the other man's words. Deeper and deeper the pulses reached inside John's body. He didn't know how much more he could take. His throbbing penis was trapped between their hot sweaty bodies, creating a sloppy but welcome friction to aid his aching release. He could feel the veins throb. He had never been so horny in his whole life. He hadn't dared touch himself since the last case had left Sherlock rather vulnerable and in need of a big of affection.

One night Sherlock was wandering around the house more aimlessly than usual. Just as John was preparing to get himself to sleep with laptop open and browser files incognitoed, a low repetitive tap tap tap awoke him abruptly, leaving him dazed and slightly cautious with his penis in his hand as his flatmate waltzed into the room.  
"I seem to be unable to sleep and studies have proven that the cloaking feeling provided by a bed-fellow can case the nerve fibres to relax and unwind." Sherlock croaked in a dull husky voice.  
John quickly tucked himself back into his trousers and hoped Sherlock hadn't noticed.  
"And where did you read that from?" John replied with a light smirk on his face, knowing full well that this 'study' with simply a rouse for company on a lonely night.  
"From the scientifically certified 'S street journals' I'll have you know." Sherlock almost looked insulted in the faded moonlight streaming through John's bedroom window.  
"Here's a wild guess I'm just going to throw out there, does 'S' stand for 'Sesame' by any chance?" Sherlock was unable to maintain his composure.  
"Fuck it, move over, I'm getting in." Sherlock said and he flung himself under the sheets and nuzzled up against the doctors back. John smiled and uttered an almost silent "g'night" under his breath. They had watched insidious the night before and Sherlock had been less deductive and scrutinizing than usual. He would laugh his flatmates childishness tomorrow, but right then, the curvature of the detective's abdomen and long slender legs encasing his entire frame was unnaturally comforting and he faded off to sleep within minutes.

Then John stopped suddenly as Sherlock's long lean cock found the small bundle of nerves hidden in the darkness of John's ass and awoke John form his second-long mind-glitch and he screamed. His toes curled up in the air and he was entirely held up by the surprisingly strong male impaling him into the wall.

"Oooooooooooooooooooh my-" John cooed.  
The rhythm got faster and faster. The noise of skin on skin was like music to their ears and Sherlock began to chant with each bone-breaking pulse.

"JOHN, JOHN, JOHn, JOhn, John, HELLO, Earth to John Hamish Watson!"

John looked around the small cramped bedroom and met the confused and dumbfounded gazes of Donovan, Lestrade, the small plump owner of the B&B, and of course Sherlock, who was waving vigorously at him.

"Oh I see, welcome back to the land of the living, John. Now, help me prove these imbeciles wrong by agreeing that the only way the man could have died in this room was by his own hand, not the hand of the young 'lady' he brought back with him. He himself ingested what he thought was Viagra but what was instead this mysterious invisible, traceless drug related to the other homicides! Admit it, John, I'm getting BORED on my feet!"

The knot that had been coiling beneath John's dark and painfully restricting denim jeans, was utterly and truly unravelled and  
the remnants of his sexual fantasy faded with every derogatory word that fell from Sherlock's perfect lips.

"Yeah, whatever, yes that's the only explanation," John sighed and let his head drop minutely to avoid the gazes of the obviously well informed Yarders, and the painfully oblivious Mr Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"As I predicted, let's go John, I'm sure these morons will be at least able to fit the rest of the pieces together, as arduous as that may seem for them, I have every faith in their ability." Sherlock shrugged sarcastically as waltzed out the door and down the spiralling staircase.  
John was left with the two detectives and the heavy set woman.

"I better- you know-" John trailed off.

Lestrade only smirked slightly and John impulsively dropped his hand to hide his almost semi-hard erection for fear it would flare up again by the penetrative and knowing glance the detective was signalling to him.

He knows. They both do.

John sighed once more and made his way to the door.

"He'd be a lucky man to have you, John." Lestrade called over to him.

John just smirked and turned a fraction to reply.

"Don't I know well." Before proceeding to walk down the floral wallpapered stairwell, out the door, to where the beautifully oblivious and downright infuriating Sherlock had hailed a cab.


End file.
